A Whole Different Story
by aliencatt
Summary: Dean may be young, but he knows exactly what he wants...companion piece to 'At Fourteen', but can be read as a stand alone...SLASH...FAO.. disclaimer...i dont own them, just a fan.
1. Chapter 1

**SLASH... **companion piece to **"At Fourteen" **... incident mentioned in passing in that story

**Dean/OMC**

**

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****Author's Notes:**

WARNING...**READ AT OWN RISK ... **Dean is underage. Statuary rape, but not abuse. If you do not like the idea, please do not read. You have been warned!

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==000==

"You sure you know what you're doing, kid?"

"Yes!" indignant, "and I'm not a kid."

"Course you're not." The man smirked, looking him up and down, his eyes turning dark, settling on those lips. "Just how old are you?" certain the answer would be a lie.

"Sixteen," holding his head high, knowing that claiming to be eighteen would be foolish. "Old enough," unconsciously chewing on his lower lip, making it plump up, as the man stared at him.

The man gave a snort. "Sure you are kid," lifting his beer, knocking it back and wondering just how in the hell he had attracted the interest of the divine creature before him. The youth was staring at his throat, watching as he swallowed, his young pink tongue emerging slightly to lick at that chew swollen lip. Slamming the empty down, the man swung off the stool, fixing the boy in the eye then walked slowly through the bar to the exit.

Outside, he took his time moving to the beat up pickup and, toying with his keys, waited a moment before opening the door and felt the presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder and spoke while his brain could still override his prick, "Last chance kid. If you get up in the truck, I get up in you," and could not help but smile at the flush starting at the kid's neck, moving up to his hairline as he hitched in a breath as if stealing himself then the lad pushed past him to climb up into the cab. He could not resist running a hand over that tight ass in the worn denim as the kid clambered in and did not miss the knife tucked into the back of the waistband. Guess the boy was not as naive as he appeared.

Climbing up himself, he turned to face the lad who, in turn, was sat back against the passenger door, watching him. "You plannin' on chargin' me?" putting a heavy, possessive hand on the closest thigh, his thumb pressing in just that little bit too hard.

The boy's breath shook as his eyes widened momentarily before he fixed him with what could only be described as a 'fuck me' look and shook his head slowly. "I'm not a whore," a simple statement of fact.

"You do this often?" as he turned over the engine and, turning the wheel, pulled out onto the road leaving the dive behind. No answer. He glanced over at the youth, seeing an uncertainty on his face now that they were on the move. "First time?"

"No." But the man could tell it was another lie. Damn, had he managed to get his hands on virgin meat? His work pants immediately got too tight and shifting, causing his foot to press the accelerator down, he reached over gently grasping the boy's slender, but oddly callused, hand and placed it on the bulge of his hardening prick. He then ran his own hand up the side of that beautiful gold dusted face, pulling lightly but insistently. The lad scooted over to sit tight to his side as his arm engulfed him.

"What's your name, son?" his hand surrounding and grasping the hip, pulling him in tighter.

"You can call me that if you want."

"Well, I'm definitely old enough to be your 'daddy'," and laughed missing the hitch in breathing but not that hand pressing down harder onto his prick. He pulled off the road well onto the verge. He lived just too damned far away.

Twisting on the seat, his back up against the door, he made fast work of opening his pants and once more grabbed the side of the boy's face, pulling him forwards whilst grabbing that right hand and pushing it into his open flies firmly onto his prick.

His mouth sought, found and captured those pouting lips, claiming them, thrusting his tongue into the willing warm cavity, feeling the lad push onto him, his mouth opening. The boy may or may not be a virgin, he hoped so, but he had kissed before.

The hand working his prick was not skilled but it was sure doing the job. Tentative at first, the lad soon gained in confidence, curling his hand and forming a fist, using it to pull, twist and squeeze, his fingers often leaving off to pass over the head collecting up the leaking pre-cum, spreading it, using it to lubricate. It was a rare teenage boy who did not masturbate and presumably this is what the lad liked. The man's much larger hand tightened holding that firm buttock and he pulled, lifting the youth, encouraging him onto his knees.

The boy's free hand cupped the man's jaw, fingernails scratching at his stubble, moaning into the kiss as his buttock was squeezed hard and he pushed his own denim clad erection against the man's side.

The boy's mouth was so eager against his own and he wondered if it would be eager else where. Pulling back, breaking the kiss, his hand spread on the boy's flushed face, his thumb rubbing over the now kiss swollen lips. As he pushed the digit into that wet mouth the boy closed his lips around it and began to suck, his eyes fixing on the man's, the expression in them far beyond his suspected years.

The young mouth slid off the man's thumb and, shifting backwards on the bench seat, he used both hands to clear the man's pants, exposing the red blood gorged member at attention from his ministrations. The man watched as the boy once more seemed unsure then, taking a deep breath, leant forwards and down, the tip of his tongue tentively emerging to lick at the weeping slit. The tongue then retreated, taking in the moisture, and he appeared to be considering the taste before, once more, with that fast growing confidence, licking, this time swirling the tip of his tongue over the deep coloured head, making the man hitch up thrusting his hips, pushing his prick into the mouth that involuntarily pulled back in surprise.

The man's right hand circling onto that ass now pushed up into the air with his fingers digging into the divide and his left on the boy's face, fingers pushing into the silky darkly blond hair, he encouraged him back down. His head threw back as that so hot mouth surrounded him once more with lips tightening around his shaft. The tongue began pressing along the side of his straining prick and then the boy began to suck on him, his hands spread out on the man's thighs for balance.

It was sloppy, unskilled, inquisitive and so damn hot. He tried to hold back somewhat knowing the boy was younger than he claimed, knowing this appeared to be possibly his first blow job but he could not. He began to thrust up into that mouth, his hand gripping the hair tightened allowing little movement but the lad just went with it, trying to take in as much as he could, causing him to gag.

The boy's fingers joined in, feeling the man's balls, rolling them in the sack and suddenly they tightened. The man pulled on the longer hair on the crown of the bobbing head, gasping, knowing he was about to cum and did not want to choke the lad. He had not finished with him yet. "Ease off son." And he pulled his hair harder as he was ignored. He would love to cum deep in the lad's throat but the boy had not managed to take him in that far. As he looked down, he watched the lips tighten on him whilst being dragged off and he roared up with a groan, his cock pulsing, shooting cum into the boys now open mouth and across his cheeks. The sight made him shudder, emptying yet again, this time onto the bruised lips as the boy swallowed, looking stunned.

Taking his time, knowing at his age he needed that pause to recover, he pulled on that arse, his other hand leaving the hair and catching hold of a thigh, he manoeuvred the boy to sit straddled across his lap and put fingertips to the plumped lips, spreading the cum across them, watching with hooded eyes as that tongue came out to lick the stickiness away and to take it inside. His hand once more on the back of the boy's head, he pulled the flushed face down and began to lick his own juice off the soft skin, listening to the quiet moans escaping from the boy's parted lips as his eyes closed and the man's other hand pressed onto the bulge in the lad's jeans.

The youth began to push against him rhythmically, his hands on the man's shoulders, fingers digging in, keeping time with his thrusts. Rubbing him harder and sucking on his skin, licking the last of the cum from his face, he continued to nip at his jaw-line, to lick at the freckles across his nose, to suck in the skin, biting at the corner of his jawbone just under his ear.

Young teenage boys were not known for their 'longevity' and the man opened his mouth onto the stretched throat, feeling the convulsive gulping as, head thrown back, the boy came in his pants shuddering then collapsed onto the man, his head resting on a shoulder with, in turn, his lips open against the stubble covered neck. Hands wrapping around his back, holding onto his jacket, the youngster relaxed down and sort of snuggled onto him breathing deeply.

Feeling recovered enough himself to drive, the man shook the lad and grasping his narrow but firm waist, lifted him off and pushed him back to the seat where he went with compliance, looking up at him with lidded sated eyes. Pulling his pants closed, he leant forwards turning the key, saying, "Time to get you home, son."

"I don't want to go home," trying to be sultry but sounding sulky.

"Oh, no," the man laughed, "Not yours. Mine," and he stepped on the accelerator at the almost but not quite scared look passing over the boy's face, eyes shinning in the dim light coming from the dash board.

==000==

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

Remember, you are reading at your own risk!

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==000==

Pulling up to the farm house, dark except for a single bulb on the porch, looking out of the windscreen at the secluded surroundings, Dean worried that he had made a dreadful mistake. They were in the middle of nowhere and, if he needed to, no one would be able to hear his calls for help. Sitting back, he could feel the reassuring presence of steel at his back and the man must have felt it too, that hand so grasping. He watched silently as the stranger opened and climbed out of the truck to head up to the porch then glance back questioningly.

He had an impulse to slide over and just drive away as the man had left the keys in the ignition as if he was giving him a last chance to change his mind. But the man was looking at him as he had in the bar that Dean was too young to have been in, never mind be drinking in, but his money had obviously been as welcome as anyone else's. That's all he had gone there for. A drink. He had had to get out of that dismal house.

He ducked his head, thinking of the last time he had left his brother alone because he just had to get away and Sammy had nearly died. But this time Dean had made sure the house was secure, both locked and protected. And he had had to get out. Sam had been whining for what seemed like days and he had come close to slapping him. Not a tussle, not a fight, just slapping him. The bar was literally a stones throw away from the end of the street they were 'living' on and he only wanted a drink, not his first thanks to dad but then, he had seen this man.

He appraised the adult once more as he unlocked his front door. He was tall well muscled and handsome in a scruffy grizzled sort of way, not too much, just enough to make the feel of whiskers against Dean's skin scratch. His brown hair was growing out of a severe cut and he moved with an assurance that alone had made him stand out in a crowd of bikers, truckers and drunks. And he had wanted him. As the man had looked up from his beer and caught his regard, it was clear the man wanted him. And Dean needed to be wanted.

"Get in here if you're coming." The man commanded entering his house and Dean was used to following orders. He jumped down from the old truck and, taking in a deep breath, resolved to go through with this. It was what his eyes had told the man across the bar that he wanted. He waited on the threshold until the lights came on, then entered closing the door softly, and turned to see it again, the want in the man's eyes.

He stood looking back as brazenly as he could as the eyes raked over his body while the man peeled off his jacket, then his shirt, the remaining t-shirt stretched tight across the broad chest. Dean also removed his jacket and, not knowing what to do with it, simply let it drop.

The man came for him with long strides. He reached and grabbed him up and, without conscious thought, Dean's legs wrapped themselves around the man's hips and he met him as the mouth crushed his. He opened his lips to allow that searching tongue once more and then, as he was hoisted, he lifted himself up, arms wrapped over broad shoulders and rubbed his check against that scratching stubble as he was carried to the stairs and up into the man's bedroom.

Kissed thoroughly, he was then flung backward onto the bed, a foot caught and his boot untied and removed, then his other. The man then stood at the base of the bed and watching him intently, his eyes dark, he stripped off his own t-shirt then once more opened his pants and moved to kneel on the bed. "You don't expect me to be all loving and gentle with you do you?" a hand grabbing Dean's waistband and pulling him down the bed. He undid the buttons then practically ripped the jeans from him making Dean wince as he heard the fabric tear.

As he looked up into those eyes, seeing the lust there, Dean felt that trepidation once more but no, he had not expected him to be gentle, had hoped he would not be. He wanted the man to be hard and gruff just as his body was. He wanted him to take him, to take control of him and to teach him just what it meant for someone to want him, to crave him. To want him because of who he was. To want Dean. To want Dean to be around and not leave him behind all the time.

He was ripped from his thoughts as his t-shirt was pulled over his head and within seconds he was lying there, on his back, naked with a half naked grown man leaning over him. The large hand felt heavy and hot as it lay on his belly then passed around, delving under him and returning, holding his sheathed knife left on the bed when his pants had been 'ripped' off. "We don't need this do we?" and the man smiled, his eyes shining at the timid shake of the pale haired head, golden in the light from the shaded bulb and he tossed the blade carelessly behind him to join the boy's clothes.

Then hands were running slowly up Dean's legs, twisting onto his inner thighs, moving up to grab his hips then run over his belly and chest, all over him, the calluses on the work roughened hands snagging, pulling on his tender skin. He pushed up into them, unable to keep from squirming under the attention. Hands back on his inner thighs and they were pushed apart and down to the bed.

'This is it' Dean thought, he was going to get fucked now and closing his eyes, he threw his arms over his head, his prick swelling at the thought. His 'lover' laughed and he opened his eyes at the mockery, but it had not been. "You truly are beautiful," he was told and he practically leapt off the bed, only the strong hands holding him down as, for the first time, Dean felt a mouth open then close around his prick.

This was nothing like he had imagined it would be, nothing like lying in his bed at home, his hand working himself under the covers, listening to his Dad snoring in the next room, the next bed, depending where they were that week.

He let out a gasp as he felt the tip of his prick hit the back of the man's throat and somehow he was sucked in further. He pushed himself up, wanting to see his prick swallowed and watched as the mouth pulled back, dragging a groan from him as lips dragged on skin. His heals dug into the mattress as once more he was engulfed. The sight of the man's head nodding over him, the rhythm, the pleasure as his sensitive tip hit the back of the man's throat and was constricted. He tried to last, tried to will himself to self control but he was young, inexperienced and his shoulders throwing back against the bed, hips thrusting up, he let out a guttural moan, half pain, half ecstasy as he came deep in the man's throat.

Dean was in a world of feeling, unaware of anything outside of his body until slowly he came back from that place he had only ever sent himself to before.

The man looked down at him. He had thought the boy beautiful before but now as he lay there, spent, breathing deeply, licking his full lips, eyes still fluttering and with that rose glow of heated skin, he felt the lust rise in him once more and stretching out, he lay full on the boy, his body that much bigger, his hardened cock pressing into the stretched, taut belly beneath him. He ran his hands up the trembling sides smiling as the lad came back to stare into his eyes, so close as he lay on him. He caught his mouth, crushing his lips with his own, his tongue surging in once more exploring, 'plundering' the inside, taking the boy's breath away.

Then he had to touch. He had to feel every part of this fresh young tender figure under him, under his control, his power. The freckles on his chest were pale, proving he kept himself covered, unlike the bronze sheen to his face. His hair was soft and golden blond with nothing yet on his face except that gentle down on his checks. 'Sixteen my ass,' he thought as he trailed fingers up the thighs and narrow hips then down once more. Kneeling back, his hands travelled to surround the lad's lax ankles and he pushed his feet up, bending his knees then pushed those apart, opening him up to his sight.

Dean bit his lip. The pull on his hip joints was uncomfortable and he closed his eyes, thinking once more that this was it, now he would be taken. He quivered and knew it was more with fear, than anticipation. There was a chuckle and although the man moved, kneeling high up between his spread thighs, he said, "Don't worry, I'm not that cruel. Turn over." And pushed Dean's left leg over him so he could turn onto his stomach, where he waited on raised elbows, unsure what he should do. His foot was pushed up causing a leg to bend and his knee stick out. He dropped down onto the bed, his check pressed to the rough bedspread. There was a hand in the centre of his back as if the man was afraid he would bolt and a commanded "Don't move."

Backing off, the man left and went to the bathroom, thinking. It was not as if he did this often and looking through the cabinet, could only come up with petroleum jelly. Removing the lid, he sniffed it, not remembering how long it had been there but it would more than do the job. On returning, he paused at the view greeting him. The lad had not moved at all but was watching for his return and he could see the uncertainty there once more. "Damn!" he said in an explosion of breath then swiftly, he was kneeling between the open legs and he had to touch.

Those rough hands were on his skin, running over his buttocks, grabbing at his flesh hard enough to make him wince but also rub his face against the spread as he clutched it under his fists. It hurt but not like when he was injured or taken down in training. This pain made his prick take notice and as the fingers dug in between his butt cheeks, a thumb passing over his hole, Dean could not contain a whimper. Then those hands were everywhere. On his thighs, rubbing up his sides, no gentle skimming of his skin but pulling, pushing, pinching, massaging his shoulders then back to his hips and he moaned and twisted under the handling, trying to get friction onto his hardening prick.

There was a chuckle behind him and Dean hid his flushed face almost feeling shame at how he was enjoying this. He knew he would bruise, he was able to feel where his skin had been pinched and pulled this way and that but still he pushed his butt up into the, so large feeling, hands. A pause, no contact and he desperately tried to hold in the groan of loss, his butt almost wiggling, wanting attention. Another chuckle and "Hold on there son," and his cheeks were pulled apart and a finger pushed at his hole. He pushed back.

A hand heavy at the base of his spine, "Take it easy. You don't want me to hurt you, do you? Relax a bit."

And it was in him. Just the tip of a finger but it felt huge. Dean held his breath then the hand in the centre of his back started to circle, to massage and he concentrated on it, relaxing just a little and the finger pushed again until it was buried inside of him. It hurt, not the just thrown into the wall kind of pain but the sort that made him pant, clutching the bedspread and push his butt back against it, unsure whether he was trying to ease the stretch, the almost burn or want more.

The man smiled, watching the kid wiggle and twist himself onto his digit while he just held still and his prick pulsed anticipating the same. He began to move the finger, eager now to be inside this gift he had somehow been given and sooner than perhaps was wise, he pushed in a second finger. The sound of the boy gasping had him watching his face, seeing it scrunch up and he quickened his actions. He was not a cruel man, he had had a few encounters of the male kind but nothing as tasty as this and his impatience and lust pushed him a little faster than was possibly prudent.

Dean heard the almost prayer and moaned at the desperate want in the man's groans and could feel the desire in the hands now holding onto his hips so possessively as he was pulled up and back, his forehead pushing onto the bed as he felt the tip of the man's prick push against his already sore arsehole. He held his breath and could not prevent himself from clenching up and, finally, trying to pull away as the prick, that had felt so big in his mouth, was so much larger as it burst through his ring. He cried out in pain, in fear and, in arousal.

He had to pause, for the boy was so tight, and he knew he would do irreparable harm, but it was damned hard not to just force his way in. So tight, so hot, and it had been so long since anyone had wanted him this much. The man never went back with the women, too used up by everyday life, that he encountered in the bars he liked to hang out in.

Since that bitch of a wife had run off over five years ago, as soon as the kids had flown the nest, he had dated a couple of nice women but it never went anywhere. He found he was looking for too much, a new wife if not love. But on the occasions he needed to satisfy his pure lust, it had been with men, often as lonely and desperate as himself and that would last him for months. But it was the teenagers that had been his undoing, which had had his wife throwing fits and even a knife once when she had found out, but never, ever, anything as young and beautiful as this.

He watched intently as he pushed his prick in a, little, more, then stopped as a wretched cry escaped from the trembling figure under his hands but he had no intention of pulling back. His fingers flexed on the bony hips and he made shushing noises, whispered "Son, relax." Somehow must have found the magic word as the figure became less rigid and then began to slowly, push back on him. He took no further biding and impaled himself in the lad to the hilt.

The sound Dean made was part word, part animalistic, finally lifting his head, clenching up on rigid arms. Tears leaked from his eyes. He was hot, he was in pain but he felt so filled and not only physically but somehow he had a moment of completion. The hands held his sides now, so securely, and the sound torn from the man's ragged throat, on being seated in him, confirmed that he was enjoying this, that he wanted to be here, that he wanted Dean to be here, because only Dean could have made him sound like that. A sound he had heard before but muffled through walls, coming out of bathroom stalls and back rooms of bars and now, he had caused it.

Finally, the tightness eased somewhat and he began to move within the boy, slowly at first, watching his prick pull back then slide back in, encouraged by the movement he felt beneath his hands, as if he needed any. He was finding it difficult to restrain himself and as the boy pushed back on to him, his head dropping between shoulders and making a noise the man had not heard in so long, he sped up his actions, his thrusts becoming faster but also harsher, concentrating on his own pleasure because the groans coming from the straining figure under his hands, were not now of pain as was the first.

The body now crowding over Dean, was so heavy, with the hands moving, one pulling on a shoulder, the other under him, pulling him back each time the man thrust forwards. It was too much, he began to feel claustrophobic and thought he would surely snap under the pressure as he could not hold himself up any longer, his mind focusing once more on pain but still his prick jumped and begged attention. His face hit the bed hard and he could hardly breathe. He shed renewed tears as his skin rasped against the rough bedspread, burning his cheek. "Please," he begged as he tried to push the arm across his waist down, to force the hand onto his prick.

It took a few more deep thrusts, then the man eased off slightly as he was becoming breathless, to realise that the boy was begging something and he panicked an instant until he actually listened and grinned. He had not been called, 'Sir,' like that since his children had moved out to their own lives but never this ragged, pleading version. He had never thought to touch his own with anything but fatherly affection and despised any father who did. But this was not his son, no matter that he was half convinced that the kid wished he was.

The man's weight lifted slightly as he leant on one straight arm and Dean could feel the flesh on his shoulder where it had been clutched so tightly. He knew he would have marks announcing to any who saw them what he had let happen, what he had wanted to happen, but he had not counted on the differing pains up and down his body, but it would all be worth it if his d… if the man would just touch him, 'there'. "Please," Dean tried again through the tears of frustration and need, pushing at the arm once more.

Then his prick was surrounded, the hand so large, all compassing and pathetically soon, Dean shot, making the man laugh then go still.

He just stilled, enjoying as the lad clenched around him, the pressure pulsing on his buried cock, amazing and he nearly joined him in cumming but, he may not have the resilience or recovery of youth, but he had the tenacity and control of age. As the boy's shudders lessened and stilled, he pulled from him, feeling a final spurt over his hand and pushed him down to the bed, hearing him sigh and relax then gasp as he forced his legs further apart and immediately re-entered, pushing in deep and lying full out on him. He took his own sweet time, enjoying the feel of the smooth young flesh beneath him, the tight, surely virgin asshole and the small whimpers until he was ready to cum.

Dean felt feverish and still the body pressed down on him, almost suffocating, sliding in and out of him in a steady, intense rhythm. His whole body felt on fire, each friction, each touch of those fingers digging into his hip, clutching his upper arm, once more pressing down, seemingly hard enough to reach his soul. He did not have the strength to clutch at the fabric beneath him, so he closed his eyes and that was better. He could not see the photo on the nightstand of the perfect happy family staring back at him.

Once more, the feelings rushing through his already abused and aching muscles caused a stirring. Again his prick was enjoying the rubbing against the bedspread, caused by the movement as the man continued to fuck him. Dean knew then that if he was so turned on by being taken so hard and seeing in his head his own family, then this is all that he deserved. He did not deserve a soft touch. It was not as if he knew what that felt like anyway, but it could not be anything as satisfying as this.

The man shifted his position, climbing a little higher up the slick figure beneath him and as he felt an almost shocked jerk and the boy begin to move, pushing back under him, groaning once more, figured he had just hit, and the lad just discovered, that spot inside. He speeded up knowing he was near the end of this fantastic ride and muttering 'endearments' as to how fuckin' fuckable the kid was, came shuddering into him then collapsed down, breathing hard.

As the man came inside him, the feeling so strange, rubbing over a place inside that made his whole body feel it, that he had never even heard of, Dean came too, his gratified painful sob mingling with the harsh breaths of the man as the unshaven cheek rubbed against his.

"Fuck, Son. I think you just killed Me," and he laughed at the whimper. He had not been mistaken, the kid had definitely just called him 'Dad' as he came.

==000==

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

=000==

Dean awoke from a doze, feeling panicked as he failed to recognise his surroundings and he could not move. Feeling crushed, he was pinned down and turning wide terrified eyes as far as he could to the side, recognised the body of a man lying across him. From this angle it looked like … and he really panicked, but then the large body moved and relaxing slightly, he asked, "Dad?" then he remembered at the deep chuckle.

"If you say so, Son."

Rolling backwards off the youth, rubbing at his face as he also awoke from the almost stupor, the man turned onto his side and studied the already bruising figure beside him. He ran a finger down the length of his spine as he stretched stiffly, turning himself to sit with knees pulled up wrapped in arms and looking straight ahead, seemingly just waiting. He continued to caress with his fingertips along then back up the arm then down his side, feeling the ribs, then onto his hip and tight buttock, then pushed in between hip and leg finding the drying stickiness there.

Dean slowly turned his head to look down at the man. For an instant, he had honestly thought he had awoken with his father's body on top of him. Then relief that he was alive, and joy that his father was on top of him. Finally, realisation and memory hit and now all he could feel was hatred for this man who was not his father.

"Come here." He pulled on the lad's shoulder, wanting to taste those lips again, to lick at the tear dried face but the boy resisted. Sitting up, he pushed a hand to cover the freckled cheek and pulled once more, increasing the pressure as the lad tried to turn his head away.

Dean wanted to leave now. He had gotten what he thought he wanted and could not fool himself to believe he had not enjoyed it, but now, he just wanted to leave. He did not want this man to touch him anymore. He had not truly realised it before, but he wanted his father. And that was so not right. So being here, with this man who had so reminded him of John Winchester without really being aware, was also wrong.

As the lad's green eyes turned to him, he saw a mixture of defiance and fear. It went straight to his cock and he felt the desire stirring, so moving, he was once more kneeling on the bed and pulled the slighter figure, with some little effort, into his arms and clamped his mouth on the other's, kissing him, not caring at the hands pushing him away. The hand on the boy's face held his jaw and he forced those swollen, beautiful, made for sex lips open and let his tongue 'rape' that mouth.

Dean fought the much larger body but soon found himself on his back, his legs twisted painfully to the side under the weight. His mouth hurt under the onslaught, his jaw ached, his lips were sore and the rasp of whiskers, that he had found so exquisite whilst being carried up the stairs, now just burned his skin. His fingers were digging into the man's shoulders whilst his desperate sobs were lost into the other's mouth.

The man did not notice the difference from earlier, lost as he was in his lust. Dragging his mouth across the cheek, he savoured tasting the saltiness of dried tears then delved onto his neck as the lad stretched it for him. The renewed tears were lost in his hair and he shifted, one hand still holding the shuddering boy's neck, and moved to force the legs apart, instructing, "Come on, Son. Open up for Daddy." The boy moaned. He had some serious father issues that was for sure.

Dean knew he was in trouble now. Not only that he was certain the man was about to fuck him once more, and none too gently by the feel of those gripping hands, but that there must be something really wrong with him. His prick had jumped at the thought and was as hard as it had ever been in his short time spent reaching for manhood. He stilled, panting, closing his eyes, not wanting to see anything, not wanting to believe that he was turned on by the thought of being taken against his will and control, and surely he should be and someday would be, punished for being like this.

The lad was moaning and moving against him, pushing up on to him, his hands pulling not pushing, with an urgency the man began to feel. He quickly did the necessary of reapplying the pet jelly lubrication then with no more preparation, he lined himself up between those smooth thighs and ,once through the tight ring of muscle, causing the boy to gasp out and lift his hips, he drove inside in one long, slow forwards thrust, his hands grasping those hips, pulling the now, if not compliant, unresisting body onto him.

It hurt, damn it hurt. The friction burning so much more than the last time and Dean's insides were forced wide, his passage not being relaxed or prepared enough for this. The man stilled at the cry and used a hand at a time, the other supporting his weight, to pull Dean's legs around his hips and high onto his back. The pressure, pain, burn, eased somewhat to a bearable level. He buried his face in the man's neck, not wanting to see who it was now, and opened his lips to suck on the pulse. He must have bitten him.

The man reared back and leaning up on straight arms, his prick still pumping in fast and hard, he grabbed the kid's jaw, angrily staring into those lust-darkened eyes. Those eyes, and he dropped back down, catching those so plumped up lips, nipping at the bottom with his teeth, then he in turn, buried his face in the kid's neck and just rode him, the hands on his back clutching his shoulder blades, pulling him, encouraging him, the legs squeezing so tightly in time to his rhythm.

It still hurt, but the man was hitting that spot again and the ripples that were crashing through Dean's body out rode any momentary pain. He could feel himself building to that explosion again and knew that he was damned. The man's actions were hurting him, he was being fucked close to violently and he never wanted it to stop. It all felt so good. And he knew somewhere deep in the back of his hardly functioning brain that this was wrong. He continued to pull the broad back in time to the man's rhythm.

Knowing it was payback, and feeling ridiculously childish, the man bit into the soft flesh on a shoulder then sucked, tasting the skin, wanting to mark him, claim him, though he knew he was unlikely to ever see the kid again once he finally gave him up come morning. He pushed his hands down once more to those hips and onto the stretched buttocks, each cheek fitting just right in his hands and he grasped them in time to his continued thrusts.

He would dream of this boy for months to come, if not longer and felt him with everything. The hot tightness into which he was buried, the firm flesh under his hands, the pulse in his stretched neck under his lips, his tongue lapping at the kiss sucked skin and the shuddering convulsions as he bit again and the boy crying out incoherently as he came gripping tighter than ever. His hands reluctantly left that ass as he rose up onto taut arms, wanting to see that face. The boy would not let go as he continued to spasm, his body leaving the bed, holding onto him convulsively then, suddenly collapsing back, looking up through narrowed eyes.

The vision of the once more flushed face, the abandon of the truly fucked, and the man shot into the still pulsing passage not being able to resist at the sight, the feel of this beautiful creature as he thought him. Collapsing down, also staying within him, a couple more, almost involuntary thrusts and he stilled, cheek to cheek with … he guessed he would never know his name and maybe that was for the best. -

There was nothing but the sound of their deep breathing and as Dean slowly regained 'consciousness', he fought off the feelings of confinement again and tried to ignore all the aches and pains that began to make their presence known through the afterglow. He shifted his hips, his legs leaden, sliding off the man completely and the strain in his joints made itself known. He pushed at the man's shoulder realising with a panic that he was falling asleep. "Wake up," shaking him.

"Wha…?" almost out.

"Please. Please…Sir. Wake up. You're … hurting me," and bit his lip because he was pretty sure that he had meant to this time.

Half asleep, the man grumbled then rolled over, off him, careless of trapping his leg and Dean almost screamed at the pain as the man's flaccid but still sizable prick ripped from him. He curled onto his side, pushing the man off his leg and rocked himself into a tight ball, willing the pulsing pain to subside, clenching his teeth, desperately not wanting to cry out. He wanted the man to sleep so he could leave. He knew it would be a damn long walk home then thought of the keys in the truck and decided, 'fuck it', he would drive.

It took a long time before Dean felt able to move. He could not fall asleep here, but then again did not think the discomfort would let him. The burnt feeling was still there inside but he could manage that. His desire to leave now outweighed the pain he hazarded would be awaiting him as he moved. He took several breaths and tentively uncurled and crept off the bed, biting his lips to keep in the groan but it was not as bad as he expected. It was a different kind of pain from, that time last year, when his ribs had been bruised. This he could handle, as a spasm in his backside took him back to feeling that cock driving into him, with him, only just stopping from begging his father to do it harder. He felt a momentary excitement as his belly flipped over then shame.

Looking at the man in fear that he should know what a twisted fuck he was, that he should wake up and not let him leave and that he hoped he would awaken, Dean quickly grabbed his clothes and knife and fled the room.

==000==

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

==000==

He had left the pickup back at the bar where he had been 'picked up', throwing the keys into the glove box. It took him a long time to walk the short distance back to the crappy house they were renting and he could not stop the tears tracking down his cheeks but, like him, they were hidden in the night. He wanted to get inside and clean himself before Sammy woke up and saw what he had done to himself. Sam must never know how twisted and perverted his brother was.

Climbing the stairs, Dean stopped outside his brother's door, needing to know that he was okay and that nothing had happened to him in his selfishness. So, quietly, he pushed the door open and smiled for the first time in what felt an eternity at the dark haired head snuggled up under the sleeping bag that served as bedding. Sam kicked a little under the cover then sighed and Dean retreated lest his presence awaken him.

Stood naked before the bathroom mirror, he tried to recognise the face staring back, but it was a different one to the fourteen year old that had snuck out after Sammy had gone to sleep. This face was older, if not wiser, it was used. A single tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it violently away, vowing he would never cry again. He would of course but he soon learnt how to use his tears to get just what he wanted, needed, craved, but stood here, he believed and dropping his head in shame, turned to climb into the shower, knowing he would never be able to wash away the feel of that man's hands on him, of that man in him but maybe the water would ease his abused muscles as it washed away the cum and sweat of two people's lust.

==000==

Sam lay in bed, listening. He was sure his brother had come into the room but maybe he had dreamt it. Sitting up, rubbing at his eyes, he watched the dark as he heard movement outside his door. It was just Dean returning to his room from a trip to the bathroom.

He was awake now and fumbling for the clock, saw it was just after four in the morning. Too early to be up but too near breakfast to bother going back to sleep. He got up and switched the light on, padding over to the table by the wall to get the latest paperback his brother had 'bought' him.

He froze. Something was wrong. He just knew it. The sounds coming through the wall, although muffled, did not sound right. Putting the book down, he bit his lip in indecision. He had walked in on Dean before on hearing strange noises about a year ago and that had not been good. He reddened at the memory of his brother's reaction when he had innocently asked, 'What ya doin'?' but this did not sound the same. Sam made a decision.

Light was showing under the door to his brother's room and he quietly pushed the door open, just enough so he could peep around, just in case he was doing that thing to himself again. Sam had tried doing it but nothing had really happened. Not then but recently he had discovered and understood why Dean did it. He had heard somewhere it would turn him blind and send him to hell. But if his big brother did it then it could not be true. Dean would never do anything that would take him to the bad people's place. Dean was good.

Dean was bent, pulling on sweatpants and Sam heard him groan softly as he stood up straight with his back to Sam. Sam's eyes widened with shock and he rushed into the room. "Dean. Dean. What happened?" and his brother spun around looking scared, but all Sam could see was the bruising on his brother's body, the grazes on his face and he wanted to cry.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Go back to bed."

But he did not. He sped over, reaching out a hand to touch the angry purple mark on Dean's shoulder that looked so sore and bit his lip as his eyes welled up. There were bruises all over him, and the ones on his hips and butt, before he pulled up his pants, had looked like someone with paint on their hands had put them on him. He stared up into his brother's face, but Dean looked so cold, so closed off. Sam's bottom lip began to quiver.

Why did his brother have to come in here? He had tried to be so quiet. He had not wanted Sammy to see him. His face, he would have been able to say he had gotten into a fight, but Sammy was tentatively touching the bite on his shoulder and there was no way he could explain that away. Dean slumped, not being able to be the cause of his brother's anguish. The youngster looked so sad. Taking his hand gently from the bite he said, "Sammy, I'm okay. Please don't cry."

"But somebody hurt you, didn't they?"

"I'm okay."

"Was it … was it a monster? 'Cause then we can tell Dad and he'll kill it."

"No! You can never tell Dad. You hear me?"

"But…"

"No!" and then he felt like shit. "Please, Sammy. Don't cry." I'm not worth it.

Sam placed his small hand on Dean's chest and Dean pulled him close, wrapping him in his arms and his baby brother did the same. He dropped his head to rub his face in Sam's hair. He smelt so good, so clean, so innocent like he had never been. He could weep for his brother's affection but his vow was too new and he just stood rocking him slightly from side to side.

Pulling back Sam looked up at Dean. "If we can't tell Dad, can I help?"

For a moment Dean was unsure what he was talking about. He was tired and had been soothed to almost sleeping just taking in the feel, smell and comfort of Sammy holding him. Nothing was wrong when he had his brother in his arms. "Help? With what?" holding his younger brother by the shoulders at arms length, searching his face.

"With the monster."

Damn. He was not a monster. Just a man that had done only what he had wanted him to. Dean felt so much shame. "There's no monster, Sammy. Not this time."

"Then who hurt you? What did they do?"

"Nothing. I'm alright. Please, just go back to bed."

"But, Dean…?"

"Please, Sammy. I'm tired. I want to go to bed too."

"Okay." But it was reluctant and it pulled at Dean's heart.

Sam took his time leaving. He kept looking back but Dean smiled at him and he left, but did not go back to his own room. After shutting the door softly, he held on to the handle and leant to press an ear to it. He could almost track his brother's movements, catching the muffled grunts and the sound of the bed taking his weight then the light disappeared from under the door.

He knew someone had hurt Dean but he did not understand why he would not tell him about it. If anyone had hurt him, his brother would not give up until he knew who, then he would go kick their ass. He had before. Well, he would not give up either.

Sam opened the door once more and, stealing into the room, moved towards the bed but stilled. "Dean." He called out. He was scared. Dean was crying and he never did that.

"Please," a choked sob. "Sammy. Go away!"

But he would not. He rushed to the bed and lifting the covers, climbed in behind him. He sat there leaning over, stroking his brother's hair. Dean's face looked awful in the sickly coloured light coming through the thin curtaining. "Don't cry," he pleaded.

"I'm…" a cough, "not crying."

"It's okay, Dean. You're safe now. I've got you."

Dean had to bite his lips, the pain stopping the sob escaping him as Sam spoke words he had so many times when trying to sooth his little brother after one of his nightmares. He ducked his head, burying his face in the scant pillow and let out a sigh as Sam continued to stroke his hair, mumbling to him. Each sweep of that hand made the pain recede just that little bit. Dean knew it was only in his head, as it would be days before he would be able to walk without discomfort or move with ease, but he did not think about that. All he thought about was the hand stroking his hair, then Sammy snuggled down behind him, hand on his arm caressing there and Dean slowly began to relax.

"Go to sleep, Dean. I've got you," and his eyes closing, Dean tried but he hurt just too damn much. Sammy kissed him on the back of the head then pushed his arm under his brother's to wrap around his waist. "I won't let them hurt you again. I love you, Dean."

His voice thick, he answered, "I love you too, Sammy," and his heart hurt as Dean realised, just how much.

==000==

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Epilogue

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The man went back to the bar a couple of times that week but did not really expect to see the kid again. It was over a week later, as he was in town picking up supplies, that he saw him. Still beautiful, still desirable and actually looking happy.

He was walking along, his hand on the shoulder of another, younger boy who was talking incessantly, often twisting to look at the man following behind. Speaking, still gesturing with his hands, suddenly his audience laughed, an indulgent laugh just before the adult held the door of the diner open for his, undoubtedly, two sons.

His truck idling, he watched as the father scanned the surrounding area as if conscious of danger everywhere and, as his eyes passed over the truck, the man knew just how, and why, he had attracted the attention of a beautiful boy with an obvious father fixation in a seedy bar.

==end==

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Thank you for reading. This was a companion piece to, 'At Fourteen'.

Please let me know if you liked this or not, and why, either way. I would appreciate the feedback. Thank you.


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